@magicandiron for Constantine
Balanced on the edge of the rooftop, he took a long inhale through his nose. The breeze carried the scents of the city fro the dockside over towards him; the updraft along the building picked up the more local details. Everything he needed to know about the area, and about the prey he’d chosen for the night. Cigarette smoke, the vague haze of sickly sweet that Victor associated with the occult, a distant tinge of alcohol. The man that Victor was tolerating this damned city night for. When he smiles, the golden lights of the city streets shines on his distinct fangs. A rolling motion sends him over the edge of the building, and hurtling down to the street below. He lands, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, directly in front of John. “Spare a moment to talk about the Lord and saviour?”
